Anything Can Happen
by Yukari Rin
Summary: One Summer morning at the Potters' cottage in Godric's Hollow. Domestic Jily fluff.


**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and related properties belong to J. K. Rowling and related parties.

**Author's Note: **If you like this enough to add it to your Favorites, please leave a review! Favoriting is all well and good and it makes my heart swell with happiness to know that what I write has been enjoyed, but reviews help me grow as a writer. Letting me know what you like (and even what you don't) would mean so much to me.

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The referee blows the whistle and pandemonium explodes. James' heart is in his throat and somehow he remembers to look around and take the scene in because he may never experience this again. Thousands of cameras are flashing. The noise in the stadium is an indistinct outpouring from all around him that narrows into a chant of "Eng-land! Eng-land!" and James nearly falls of of his broomstick as it sinks in that he has helped bring the Quidditch World Cup home to England.

It is that momentary slip that recalls him to himself. He opens his mouth and belts out a roar from the depth of his chest. This is nothing like winning the Quidditch Cup at Hogwarts. It isn't necessarily better, but it is infinitely different in terms of scale and he feels like he never has before. Hoolihan pulls up beside him and throws his arms around him. Hoolihan isn't the smallest of men and James feels what breath he had in his lungs vanish, but he's thankful that the Beater had at least let go of his bat at some point.

Lockwood comes to a rest on James' other side, Quaffle still in her hands. "We did it!" she exclaims, disbelief in her voice, expression, and body language.

"We did it!" James confirms laughing. Tears are stinging the edges of his eyes but he's too focused on holding onto his broom and being in the moment to bother. The rest of the team converges on the three: Harper holding the Golden Snitch in a white-knuckled fist, O'Brien sobbing shamelessly while being directed to the circle via gentle nudges by Whitby and Crestmont.

The seven members in the air above the pitch take a moment to congratulate each other before descending to the field to join the coaching staff and the emergency substitutes. Mayhem is renewed as hugs are exchanged, backs are slapped good-naturedly, and those not on a broom quickly join their fellows for a victory lap. Once around the stadium and then again and again, rising slowly so that they can share this victory with all of their supporters. It _is_ England's first World Cup trophy, after all.

A small cloud of white uniforms, they make it up to the V.I.P. seats. Harper dives for her son before he can fall after squirming out of his father's arms. The people in the box laugh and call out congratulations as loved ones reach out to their champions, some of the sprightlier making their way onto a broom.

"You want something, Potter? Can't have you hanging about, what with all the dignitaries here," Auror Moody growls.

James grins at his friends gathered in the fifth row. Sirius is counting galleons with Peter, but Remus catches his eye. James raises a brow and Remus turns to say something to the seat beside him. Lily pops up, a tissue pressed to her bright red nose. James laughs at the sight and points to her. "Yes, I do. That gorgeous redhead right there, sir."

Moody's magic eye swivels around and the auror harrumphs. "Somebody help her down, will you? Quit your lollygagging, Smith! What have I told you about the need for constant vigilance?" A young trainee whom James assumes is Smith hurries to the edge of the row the Marauders and Lily are seated in and stretches out a hand for her as she climbs over her friends.

"No fair, Prongs! You promised to take me around for a lap if you ever won the World Cup!" Sirius cries as Lily is escorted through the crowd.

"That was long before he made himself an old married man with a baby at home," Peter teases. "I don't think you're the priority any more."

Moody takes Lily's hand in his and walks her to the cleared space next to the wall. "In front or behind you?"

"In front," James answers quickly, drawing as close as possible, capturing Lily's lips with his for a quick kiss, "that way I can do that more easily."

Lily's eyes are tinged red from crying but the gleam in them sharpens as her husband's hands come around her waist. "Careful there, Potter, or you'll wind up with a certain type of souvenir in nine months," she informs him _sotto voce_.

He thinks of Harry at home, too young to be at the tournament but safe at home in Godric's Hollow under the watchful eye of Bathilda Bagshot. "I'm all right with that, if you are," he replies, lips against his wife's cheek as she settles side-saddle before him. They hold each other's gaze; measuring the earnestness of their words, calculating in seconds the feasibility of having another child at this point in their lives. Without speaking Lily loops her arms around James' neck and pulls him in for a deep kiss. They earn a few catcalls before James directs his broom away from the stands. They catch up with his teammates, posing for pictures in the air before descending to the ground for the awards ceremony.

"I think Harry would like to have a training partner."

James feels the grin stretch across his face before he can think to smile. "Have I told you recently how much I love you, Mrs. Potter?"

Lily throws her head back and laughs as she hops off of the broom. She spins around to face him as he stands and rises onto the balls of her feet. "You have, but I never tire of hearing it, darling."

He leans in to kiss her once more and feels a wet splat on his cheek followed by a giggle.

He shakes his head and blinks into the ivory of the pillowcase beneath his head.

"Harry, dear, that's not a nice way to wake your dada up."

The boy giggles again, lunging for his father's hair. James yelps and reaches up to untangle his son's fingers from his scalp. He turns and pulls Harry down against his chest with one arm and tugs on a lock of Lily's hair with his other. The dream is all ready fading from his memory. "What time is it?" he asks groggily.

Lily leans forward to kiss both of her boys on their foreheads. "Half nine, sleepyhead. I'm surprised you slept through the racket that was a gift delivery."

James draws himself into a seated position, Harry on his lap, and locates his glasses. Resting besides Lily's legs is a good sized package wrapped in bright paper. James presses his lips to the thick mess of his son's hair. "Happy birthday, mate."

Lily pushes the gift towards Harry who promptly digs his fingers into the wrapping. His parents help him uncover the child-sized broomstick and the card from Sirius. Harry is clearly delighted as he grabs the toy and James looks up to see Lily's reaction. "Brilliant," she breaths, meeting James' eyes.

He can't help the smile that blossoms on his face at her words. "Have I told you recently how much I love you, Mrs. Potter?"


End file.
